O Mary, Mother, if the day we trod In converse sweet the lily-fields of God, From earth afar arose a cry of pain, Would we not weep again? (Sings) Hush, hush, O baby mine,...
The dew was full of sun that morn (Oh I heard the doves in the ladyricks coop!) As he crossed the meadows beyond the corn, Watching his falcon in the blue. How could he hear my song so far,...
Deem not this book a creed, 't is but the cry Of one who fears not death, yet would not die; Who at the table feigns with sorry jest. To love the wine the Master's hand has pressed,...